Sometimes
by Shawne 'til dawn
Summary: Sometimes we all need to self reflect.


**Disclaimer**: _This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch._

_Sometimes I wonder why I wrote this snippet . . . maybe I need a new job . . . real life has been sucking me dry right now . . . a big mahalo to all of you who have __been a constant source of encouragement to me . . . you continue to make "deposits" into a heart that is nearly "bankrupt" with exhaustion. _

_Sometimes . . ._

_By: Shawne 'til dawn_

Sometimes I wish I could just tell him. I wish he could just understand how I feel. I'm tired . . . so very tired! Tired of everything that I've been keeping to myself.

Sometimes I just . . . I just . . .can't take it anymore. The things I've seen on the streets have turned me into someone . . . something . . . I don't recognize at all. Who am I these days I wonder?

Sometimes when I drag myself out of bed to get ready for work, I look in the mirror and I don't know who it is that glares back at me. Cold, pale eyes hold me frozen to the spot. They stare at me in accusation. What am I doing? Who am I fooling?

"I don't know you anymore," I whisper to myself. The stranger sadly peers back, a drooping mustache, hiding lips that used to smile often before in the past. The face that resembles the one I've known all my life, just stares back at me in silence.

I get dressed as a black cloud of despair fills my heart; and still I go back out there . . . into the streets to be with him, to watch his back . . . because if I lose him, then I too, would be lost . . . forever.

I love him with all of my heart, and yet, I resent him too.

I feel trapped . . . I feel like everything is closing in . . . I feel like my heart is turning into concrete, like I'm sinking in a wretched mire of desolation. I need to get out of this job

. . . I need to cleanse my soul of the filth from the streets . . . I need to . . . I need to breathe. Why can't he understand that I can't keep doing this? It's killing me . . .it's killing . . .us!

Sometimes, when I'm not so caught up with myself, with the lonely wretchedness I feel, I watch him . . .

And there are times that he seems different too. A little worn around the edges, ocean blue eyes that don't sparkle as much . . . that seem saddened and perplexed. I haven't seen that cherished lopsided grin for a long time now, and I long to see more of it . . . and yet, though he's different he pretends like things haven't really changed . . .

I see him striving to keep things the same between us . . . and it irritates me to no extent! Always finding something to look forward too . . . seeing the good in things, keeping that childlike wonder and exuberance that puts a bounce in his stride . . . always attempting to keep that eternal bottle of optimism half full . . . well, sometimes . . . when he knows I'm watching.

Sometimes, I see him staring at me funny when he thinks I'm not looking, his head cocked slightly to one side, trying to figure what's gone wrong between us. I know it hurts him and a part of me feels glad for it, though I quickly feel ashamed for that thought. It's not his fault that I'm falling apart . . .

It's not his fault, I keep telling myself. Being a cop is ingrained in his blood. He doesn't know any other way. He's like that . . . my partner. He's a man to be admired . . . always loyal, tough, bound by honor and responsibility. He loves being a cop and I love being his partner, but I just can't take it anymore . . . can't take the responsibility . . . the guilt, the fear . . . of losing him . . . of losing us.

I've tried to tell him, but I guess I'm not being too clear . . . can you imagine that? Me . . . a college graduate . . . not being able to put my feelings into words . . . unable to articulate all that is in my heart . . . so afraid . . . so ashamed . . . so damn tired!

And so, because I cannot articulate what it is that I am feeling, I take it out on him . . . I treat him like trash, because I feel like garbage inside; and he's clueless . . . I can tell by the way he looks at me . . . sometimes.

To his credit, he never says anything. He just takes my crap, but I can feel his hurt as he senses my pulling away. I know I am tearing us apart. I feel his confusion, his pain. We've always been able to sense each other's feelings, each other's thoughts . . . and that has never changed between us . . . until now . . .

Sometimes his blue eyes silently question me and I angrily turn my head away, refusing to see his bewilderment. I know he doesn't understand . . . how can I explain to him when I don't even understand it myself . . .

And then that day on the beach . . . when he threw his badge into the sea . . .

His badge . . . his life's blood. He threw it away, choosing to stand beside me instead. God . . . it touched me so deeply inside because I knew how much being a cop meant to him. That's why I love him so much . . . he'd die for me . . . and I would do the same for him. Me and thee . . .

But we soon went back to our jobs and with it returned my resentment . . . all the more stronger now and before I knew it, that whole horrible ordeal with Kira happened . . . and I . . . I hurt him. I hurt him like how I hurt inside . . . what the hell is wrong with me? How could I have done that to him? I can be such an ass . . .

Sometimes.

"I'm sorry buddy . . . so sorry," I hear myself murmur, reaching out to touch his fingers, grasping his limp hand in mine. "I'm sorry for being such an ass." I wait to see him smile, that lopsided grin that lights up his whole face; forgiving me as usual, never judging or holding grudges. I wait to see any kind of response. Nothing. Heavy, dark lashes lay still against pale cheeks.

I wish I could redo this past year . . . I wish I could take back all the things I've done to hurt him . . . I wish I could trade places with him, but all I do is squeeze his hand, tucking it once again under the sterile white sheet that covers part of his bandaged torso.

The beeping of the heart monitor seems to mock my apology as I listen to its erratic cadence . . . holding my breath between the longer gaps . . . dreading to hear that long monotonous tone that would indicate another flat line. He'd already coded once before and I couldn't bear to have it happen again . . . not now . . . not like this . . .not when I still have so much to say.

I inhale deeply, letting out a heavy sigh, as I walk over to the window to look out into the still of the night. It seemed fitting somehow . . . the darkness out there seemed to match the empty void that filled my heart.

What would I do without him? What would life be like without my best friend by my side . . . my partner . . . the other half of my soul . . .

There would be no life for me . . . how could I live . . . with only half a heart?

I remember how he once shared about his dad . . . he told me how they used to take his dad's being there for granted . . . until he was gone . . . forever.

Sometimes you forget how really important someone is to you . . . how much they mean to you . . . you forget to tell them that you love them, that they make your life bearable by just being in it, that they are a blessing. You just forget sometimes because they are always there . . . until they're not anymore . . . or until you wake up and realize that they might leave you forever . . . like now . . .

I can see him lying so still on the bed through the reflection in the dark window . . . and I try to suppress the shudder that quakes my soul.

Tonight the fear of death is stronger than the fear I have been carrying around in my heart these many long months . . .

Tonight the fear of losing Starsky sets me free . . . I surrender . . . and if given another chance I will tell him . . .

Too much time has been wasted, too much pain and hurt has been inflicted and I would purge my soul of this burden I have been carrying around if I could just have . . .

Some time . . .

-finis-

_**Authors Note:** Is this a pre-slash snippet? Hmmm . . . could be . . . or not . . . you may _

_be the one to decide dear reader . . . 'a hui hou', until we meet again._


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